Ayden stills, his cock pulsing in my throat one second, the next he’s pulling me up with one hand, tucking himself inside his pants with the other.
“Too close,” he hisses angrily.
I’m not sure if it’s at me.
“We’re fine,” I snap back before I call out to Bradley. “Grab my order, I’m just washing my hands.”
I snatch out of Ayden’s hands the usual scent blocker spray he makes me use.
“You know, this is a little tiring being your secret. I feel like we’re having an affair,” I bite back. A rush of sudden hurt tainting my words. He always makes me feel like I’m not good enough.
“No,” he says, his tone slightly softer than it was a second ago. “I’m sorry. I’ll do better. I just got thrown by how much you distract me.”
“Either way, Ayden, you’re still being a bit of a dick.” I refuse to look at him. I wasn’t pretending being hurt.
He pushes the hair off my face. “I’ll do better. You need to go.”
I twist out of his hold, making my way to the door. “I’ll see you tonight?”
He answers with a brisk nod.
And then I am gone, because in a few short hours, I’ll be introducing Ayden to my father.
It’s a big night for a few other reasons too. On the work front, we’re having an early dinner with the board before the Annual Verdune Cocktail Fundraiser, which means it’s a night full of being under the spotlight.
And because I stopped at the coffee shop on the way home, I’m late to my hair appointment and racing inside to dress. But I couldn’t leave without seeing Margot.
In the space of a few weeks, everything seemed to happen. Ayden and me for one, but just as important, Margot’s health spiralled downwards overnight. My beautiful, stoic mother became a waif, in body and spirit.
The door to her suite is closed, but it does nothing to keep the sense of misery away—the hint of sickness sits like mist filling the hallways. I knock softly in case she’s already asleep.
“Come in, darling.” Her voice, barely audible through the closed door, pulls me from my reluctance. Because as much as I love her, seeing her like this turns my stomach and makes visiting hard. But I don’t want to miss how little time we have left.
As I walk further in, I school my features like I do every time I see her now. The shadows in her room no longer hide the true extent of her illness. And it’s heartbreaking.
Our nightly visits changed drastically over the course of a few months. So have the dynamics of our family. My parents and I are similar people but sharing her suffering and declining health has affected each of us differently.
Without question I know my father loves ‘his Margot’. I hid in the corridor and cried into my hand the first time I heard him sing a lullaby to her. My father is a man of science, of knowledge and emotional detachment, and hearing him sing of his love fractured a part of me.
Her health has made him pull further away in his pain if that is even possible. His worry for her has also made him paranoid over everything. My security has tripled, and he’s been locked in endless meetings downstairs.
While Margot and Allan don’t have a pack as such—they have their own version—a group of powerful adversaries. Sometimes I feel like they’re working against the Verdune legacy. But that’s got more to do with this group of Alphas trying to protect me by making decisions that have to do with me and my welfare. Supposedly, they do it to not overwhelm me, but I find it more distressing when they don’t even bother asking me or attempting to listen to me when they do ask.
Gilded cages come in many forms—and Alphas thinking they need to shield me and my sensitive Omega brain is something I’ve had to deal with for years.
I guess seeing Margot getting sicker is a very real reminder of the future and that is something none of us can stop from happening. But seeing her, I put it all aside.
“How are you feeling?” I ask, keeping my voice soft because sudden sounds tire her.
My anxiety lessens when I see how alert she is tonight. Her smile grows and grows with each step I make.
“Spin around, Heidi,” Margot says. Her voice cracks because of the effort it takes to speak, but it’s also a known side-effect of the drugs she’s on.
Moving closer, I stand on her side of the bed and do a slow pirouette, modelling the navy dress she suggested I wear. Margot has always had a keen eye for fashion, although her style has never wavered. She embodies a timeless elegance similar to the fashion house of Chanel. I let the blazer slide off to show her the dipped back on the dress. She hums her approval, and happiness makes her peony scent flair.
Twisting to see if she wants more of a showing, I find her eyes are locked on the long, thick curls tumbling down my back. Sitting on the edge of the bed, her hand brushes softly down them.
“I knew you would look so grown up, Heidi, but seeing you like this makes me so very happy,” she says. Her voice cracks again and I try not to lock up as she speaks. But it’s hard, seeing her like this.
